


Roj Blake and his Merry Men

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, Community: trope_bingo, Episode: s02e08 Hostage, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin Hood!AU. When the ex-Sheriff of Nottingham kidnaps Maid Marian, Blake has no choice but to mount a raid on the Castle Exbar with his band of outlaws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roj Blake and his Merry Men

**Author's Note:**

> I very much just did what I wanted with the setting, so there are glass windows and girls with swords. Some of the characters map pretty neatly onto their Robin Hood counterparts (Blake, Servalan, Travis), others... less so. Gan is Little John, Cally is Friar Tuck (there are versions where he's a fearsome warrior as well as a religious man). Jenna and Avon were more tricky, so Jenna's a horsewoman and Avon's a wizard. Because... well, I didn't have much use for a computer expert in fake Victorian Robin Hood land. And, as we all know, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. But in this case: Avon is just a wizard. This also means I can use the fic as 'au:magic' for trope bingo \o/  
> If you think this fic is strongly influenced by the ST:TNG episode 'Qpid'... well, you're not wrong :D

The arrow flew into the tree and quivered there gently. 

“We’re under attack!” Vila yelled, diving for cover behind his mandolin, as around him Blake drew his bow, Gan took up his staff, and Jenna, Avon and Cally raised their swords. Everything was very still. In the clearing behind them, one of the horses whinnied quietly. 

“I told you we should never have stopped here,” Avon said, as he eyed the surrounding woodland. 

“Your objection was noted,” Blake said, his voice steady, “but so was the condition of the horses. We couldn’t have gone much further.”

“Unless you fancied carrying your mount, rather than the other way around, Avon,” Jenna suggested acidly. She was the best rider amongst them and could coax her mount to make extraordinary jumps or reach tremendous speeds that outpaced even Blake’s own beloved horse Liberator. It had been Jenna who had suggested they stop and so, although Blake knew Avon’s dig had been directed at him rather than her, it was clear she had taken offence. 

Fortunately, before Avon could deliver a scathing retort and make the fight worse, Gan directed their attention back to the matter at hand. 

“Why aren’t the guards attacking?” 

“Who cares?” Vila said from beneath the mandolin. “Let’s just be grateful they’ve had a change of heart. Had to happen some time. After all, we’re all so lovable, apart from Avon.”

“Is the force wall working yet?” Blake asked, thinking of it suddenly.

“No,” Avon said shortly. “Not yet.” 

“There was only one man,” Cally said slowly. She had been a member of the religious order of Auron for many years and, although she’d later been expelled for choosing to fight against the crown, she retained the telepathic abilities they’d taught her. “He was afraid of us. He thought that, if you knew what his message was, Blake, you would surely kill him.”

Blake frowned. “Is that what people think of me? That I’d murder an innocent messenger?”

“While your reputation is undoubtedly very important,” Avon said, meaning it wasn’t, “a far more pertinent question would be, _what_ is the message this man was so anxious not to deliver? Vila – pull that arrow out of the tree and bring it here.”

“Sorry?” Vila said. 

“The message is obviously attached to the arrow,” Avon said. “So why don’t you pull the arrow out of the tree and bring it here?”

“Oh,” Vila said. “All right.” He paused. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the closest.”

“Or because you think the arrow might be covered in poison, or have some sort of spell on it, and you don’t mind if I drop dead.”

“That, too,” Avon said, with a smile.

“It’s all right, I’ll do it,” Blake said, shouldering his bow. He pulled on his riding gloves just in case and turned to Avon. “You _are_ sure it isn’t spelled?”

Avon sighed and pushed past Vila. He held his hand over the arrow and concentrated. “Not that I can tell,” he said eventually.

“Oh, that’s very comforting,” Vila said. 

“Maybe I should take it,” Gan said, coming up beside Blake. “You can afford to lose me.”

Blake smiled at him. “We can’t afford to lose anyone,” he said and yanked the arrow from the tree. “And I don’t want to ever ask any of you to do something I wouldn’t do myself.”

“Worried about your reputation again?” Avon asked. 

“I’m _worried,”_ Blake said, “about my friends.” He untied the twine around the letter, unfurled it and scanned the text briefly. 

“So, what is it?” Jenna asked. 

“It’s from the Sheriff,” Blake said slowly. 

“Ex-Sheriff now,” Gan said, with a grin. 

“If,” Avon said, “you believe the Royalist propaganda.”

“Don’t you?”

“I never believe anything that can’t be explained rationally.”

“And this from our wizard,” Vila said. “Communicating across hundreds of miles through magic bracelets he finds rational, but Queen Servalan turning against someone who’d previously been loyal to her? That Avon finds hard to believe.”

“While it’s true that the Queen is a treacherous snake, Travis’s dismissal is not typical of her manner of betrayal,” Avon said. “If he had wronged her, he would have suffered a very public hanging, as we are sure to do if she ever catches up with us. No, his dismissal is a tactical move that we simply do not understand yet.”

“Can’t we just have a bit of good luck sometimes?”

“Not in my experience,” Avon said. “Blake, what’s the message?”

“You can read it, if you like,” Blake said and handed it to him. 

“Out loud,” Cally said, “so we can all hear it.”

Avon sighed as though being asked to read something in such inferior penmanship was a great trial to him. 

“Blake,” he read, “I am sending this from the Castle Exbar. I have Ushton's daughter, Maid Marian. Don't worry,” he looked up at Blake, eyebrows raised, “I won't harm her. All I ask is, come to Exbar and talk. Blake, this is not a trick. Well,” he said, “if you believe that, you’ll believe anything, Vila. Like yourself,” he continued, reading again from the letter, “I am now a fugitive from the crown. It is time we pooled our resources. Together we might survive. Alone the Queen will pick us off one at a time. The girl is safe if you come to Exbar within the hour. If you do not come, the girl, regretfully, dies.” He turned the paper over, but that was the end of Travis’s message.

“Who exactly is Marian?” Jenna asked.

“She meant a lot to me once,” Blake said wistfully. “I can’t leave her in the hands of Travis, even if this message is an obvious trap.”

“And it is,” Avon said, “very obvious. You can’t even be sure Travis has the girl.”

“Actually, I can,” Blake said. He held up the twine that had been used to tie the letter to the arrow. “I made this bracelet for her when I was ten.”

“That’s a bracelet?” Vila said sceptically.

“I was very artistic as a child,” Blake said. Cally grinned over Vila’s shoulder and the corner of Blake’s mouth twitched before he remembered what was at stake and frowned again. “Marian swore she wouldn’t ever take it off,” he continued seriously, “and I believed her.”

“So now you’re asking us to risk our lives for your sweetheart?” Avon asked scathingly.

 _“No,”_ Blake said, feeling the anger rise inside him and stamping down on it. “I’m not asking you to do anything, Avon.”

“Good.”

“I will need Vila, if he’s willing.” 

“Why me?” Vila asked.

“Because I’d like to take a look around before the Sheriff knows I’ve arrived,” Blake explained, “and you can get me in without anyone noticing. It won’t be dangerous. For you, anyway. You can leave me at the main hall to confront Travis and escape through the kitchens. And the rest of you can stay out of it.”

“Can’t we do anything to help?” Jenna asked. “I could go with you and look after the horses while you rescue Marian.”

“Yes, all right,” Blake said with a smile. 

“And you’ll need backup in case it does turn violent,” Cally said. “Gan and I can infiltrate the castle grounds and be ready in case you need us.”

“Excellent idea, Cally,” Gan said. “I’ve been looking forward to knocking a few of the Sheriff’s guards’ heads together.” 

“Fine,” Blake said, “but you’re not to go looking for trouble. You fight only when necessary to help effect an escape, and get out as soon as you can.”

“Of course,” Cally said and smiled sweetly. She turned to look at Avon and so, without meaning to, Blake turned to look at him, too. 

Avon was standing with his arms crossed. “You’re all idiots,” he said, meeting Blake’s gaze, “and soon you will all be dead idiots.” And with that he stalked away.

“He’s got a point,” Vila said. 

“Well, we’ll be very careful,” Blake said, putting an arm around him. “Won’t we?”

“How careful? Careful like the time we broke into Travis’s counting house, he shot you in the leg and it took you three weeks to recover?”

Blake exchanged an awkward look with Jenna who shrugged. “More careful than that,” he told Vila.

*

Ten minutes later, Blake swung himself into Liberator’s saddle. “I hope you're rested, old girl," he said, patting her neck. "We’ve got quite a distance to cover.”

“Talking to dumb animals now, are we, Blake?” Avon asked, coming up to stand next to Liberator’s bridle. “I’d have thought you'd had enough of that what with Vila and Gan as part of your merry band.”

Blake scowled down at him. “What do you want, Avon?” 

“I’m not coming with you,” Avon said, “but if you are going headlong into mortal danger, I thought I should make sure your communication bracelet was working.”

“It is,” Blake said. “I tested it with Jenna earlier. Is that all?”

Avon pulled his hand away from Blake’s wrist. “No. I also wanted to give you this.” He held up an arrow. “It’s something I’ve been working on. If you shoot it within five hundred yards of Travis, it will find his heart.”

“If I shoot it, it won’t need to be a magic arrow to do that.”

“This one works around corners,” Avon said. 

Blake raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really.”

“Do you doubt me?” Avon asked. “No,” he said, “don’t answer that. Just go and rescue your sweetheart and try not to get yourself killed. Not that I care, obviously, but it would be inconvenient for me to find another band of outlaws to shelter me.”

“I’ll certainly try,” Blake said. “After all, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. Oh, and Avon?” he added, as the wizard turned to go. “For what it’s worth, I have never doubted you.” Avon’s face was unreadable. “And she’s not my sweetheart. She’s my cousin.”

Rather than wait for Avon’s reply, he pushed Liberator into a gallop and heard the others follow him. After a moment, Jenna sped past him, waving and grinning as she did so.

*

He left the horses and Jenna, Cally and Gan at the edge of the forest and walked the rest of the way to the castle. Fortunately, it did not have a moat and the ex-Sheriff of Nottingham had only posted two guards at the back gate. Blake took careful aim and shot one of them through the neck. Quickly, he pulled another arrow from his quiver and loosed it at the second guard before the man had had time to do more than goggle at his fallen comrade. 

Blake nodded at Vila and the two of them sprinted across the open ground towards the gate. Vila had been a thief before he’d joined Blake’s band and had a gift for picking locks. This one yielded to him in less than a minute. Blake toed the dead guards out of the way so they could pull the door outwards and effect and entrance. 

It was dark inside the castle and torches flickered on the walls. Blake and Vila had climbed two staircases before the sound of Travis’s familiar aristocratic tones caused them to flatten themselves against the wall. 

“Has Blake arrived yet?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

“Are you sure?” 

“We have guards posted on all the entrances, sir. He couldn’t have got past us.”

“You don’t know Blake like I do,” Travis said. “He’s as slippery as a snake and twice as poisonous.”

“That’s rich,” Vila scoffed and Blake sh-ed him, though he privately agreed. 

“Have him brought to me the moment he arrives,” Travis continued. “And post an extra guard outside this room. If he does get in, he’ll try to rescue the girl without parlaying. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Understood, sir,” the guard agreed. 

There was the sound of Travis’s heavy boots walking away and the guard muttering to his fellows before walking away himself, presumably to find the other guard Travis had requested.

Blake peered carefully around the corner and ducked back. “Only one man left,” he said softly. “I’ll deal with him. You unlock the door and then run for it. Understand?”

“Run for it,” Vila said dreamily. “Three of the most perfect words in the English language. How could I resist them?”

Blake rolled his eyes and pulled a button from his jerkin. He threw it down the corridor and heard it skittering away, following it in time to see the guard turn back towards him. The man's face contorted in surprise as Blake smacked him round the head with the pommel of his sword and he fell without a sound. 

Vila had the door open almost immediately and, with a quick look at Blake for reassurance, he was off down the corridor. 

Blake pulled the door open and stepped into the room. It was empty apart from a single chair in which a woman sat, looking out of a glazed window into the courtyard. Her petite figure was swathed in rich fabrics and her dark hair plaited with gold. 

“Blake,” she said, turning to smile at him. “How nice of you to join me.”

Blake raised his sword-hand to his mouth as four or five guards poured into the room behind him. “Avon,” he said into the magic bracelet, “it’s a trap.”

“That much was obvious,” Avon’s voice said. “How bad a trap is it?”

“Servalan’s here. And Marian isn’t.”

“That is bad,” Avon agreed, as Blake was relieved of his sword and bow, and forced to his knees. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do,” Avon’s voice continued as Travis pulled the bracelet off Blake’s wrist with his ungloved hand. “I’m still miles away back at the camp.”

“Very helpful,” Blake muttered. 

“Now, Blake,” Servalan said, taking the bracelet from Travis and sliding it onto her own wrist, “a good leader never blames his followers for his defeat, you know that. And, of course, it _was_ you who fell for Travis’s rather transparent scheme.”

“Unfortunately I had no choice. I swore an oath that Marian would always be safe as long as I lived.” 

“Oh, I know,” Servalan said. “She told me.” 

“And I abide by my oaths,” Blake continued. “Unlike certain people I could mention.”

Servalan smiled. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

“It’s simply a statement of fact,” Blake said calmly. “Where’s Marian?”

“She is here,” Servalan told him. “And she’s alive. But not, I’m afraid, for long. Travis suggested we execute her moments before your own execution.”

“I want you to see just how much you’ve failed, Blake,” Travis said, with a cold smile. 

“Charming,” Blake said. "But not unexpected."

Through the window there came the sound of Vila shouting as he was led out into the courtyard. _“Blake! Blake, it’s a trap! They know we’re here. Blake!”_

“Normally, I wouldn’t grant such a bloodthirsty and illogical request,” Servalan continued, with a smile to show she’d heard Vila’s futile cries. “But Travis has, at last, been useful and finally captured you. So I'm in the mood to be generous. You’ve been very irritating to me, Blake.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Blake said. “You’ve destroyed this country, Servalan. The people live in poverty and misery as a direct result of your greed and poor management.”

Travis backhanded him hard around the face. “How dare you speak to the Queen like that?”

“No, it’s all right,” Servalan said, staying him with a hand. “His impotent rage amuses me.” 

“One day,” Blake told her, dabbing at his split lip, “your brother King Richard will return and you will face his judgement. Until then, I’m pleased to have been the thorn in your side. Even if has to end like this.”

“I’m afraid it does,” Servalan said. She sighed. “You know, it’s rather a pity. I’d imagined a more dramatic death for you, Blake, but I suppose a simple hanging will have to do in the circumstances.”

At that moment there was a big explosion outside the window. The guards holding Blake relaxed their grip in shock, and he surged to his feet, pushing past Servalan and through the window. The glass splintered around him as he fell, twisting his body round to face the wall. 

“Stop him!” Servalan yelled as Blake dug his fingers into a large gap between slabs of stone. He managed to arrest his fall for a moment, looking up to see archers leaning from the window, and then dropped again as arrows rained around him. 

He fell with a grunt into Gan’s arms, and grinned as Gan set him on his feet again. 

“Thank you.”

They both ducked another shower of arrows. The courtyard was in uproar: one of the towers had collapsed and, to compound the mayhem, the residents of Exbar had turned on the occupying guards and were now fighting them back with swords, poles and pitchforks. 

“Vila pointed me towards the right window before he went to get Jenna,” Gan explained. “Oh, and Marian said to give you this,” he added, pulling a longbow from his belt.

“You’ve found Marian?” Blake asked, gingerly testing his finger-pads against the bowstring.

“Oh yes. Wonderful girl. She took us to the explosives _and_ showed us where to lay them to cause the most damage.”

Blake grinned. “She hasn’t changed, then. Where is she?”

“Up there,” Gan said and Blake squinted towards the battlements where his cousin and Cally were fighting two swordsmen each.

 _“Marian!”_ Blake yelled as one of her opponents fell. Next to him, Gan swung his staff taking out three more guards. _“Time to go!”_

She nodded and thrust her sword into the other guard, who groaned as he toppled off the battlements. 

“We’ll be down in a minute,” Marian shouted back, hacking one of the nearby ropes in half so there was a length to swing on. _“Cally-”_ she began and gasped as Travis seized her from behind, a dagger held at her throat in his left hand. Everything was suddenly very still.

“Surrender now, Blake,” he shouted. “Or I kill the girl.”

"Thank you, Avon,” Blake murmured as he drew the arrow Avon had given him earlier from his quiver and shot it in one fluid movement. 

It should have been impossible, even with a non-spelled arrow, but somehow Travis reached out with his gloved hand and grabbed the arrow from the air. With a smile, he broke it in half and dropped it. Blake’s jaw hung open.

“Nice try,” Travis called mockingly. “But my arm is spelled, too, Blake. I’m stronger and faster than any of you. No man or his magic toys can touch me. Now surrender!” 

Suddenly, he choked. Marian stepped out of his grip as he fell, Cally’s dagger in his back. 

Cally grinned and Blake heard her amused voice inside his head, _Chauvinist._

Then she followed Marian’s example and swung down into the courtyard. 

Blake hugged Marian and beamed at Cally. “ _Well done._ Both of you. Now, let’s get out of here, shall we?”

They turned towards the exit in time to see the portcullis rattle down into place. Archers stepped up from the other side, the tips of their arrows pointing through the metal grid towards Blake and his friends. Blake turned and found more archers pressing in on them from the other side. Their arms were drawn back, their bowstrings taught. He looked up and saw Servalan standing on the battlements. 

“Kill them,” she said pleasantly. 

As one, the archers let go their arrows. Blake closed his eyes, expecting the sharp, hot pain to hit him any moment, but it didn’t. 

“We’re still alive,” Gan's voice said in surprise.

Blake opened his eyes. They were still surrounded.

 _“What_ is going on?” Servalan shouted. “I _said,_ kill them!”

The archers shot again and the arrows bounced off an invisible something about a meter in front of Blake’s face.

Blake turned his head and Avon smiled at him. “Force wall,” he said, his hand held out, the magic rippling off him.

Blake stared. “Where did you come from?” 

“We could have used your help earlier in the battle,” Cally added.

“I arrived only a little while after you,” Avon explained, ignoring Cally, “having deduced at last how to make the force wall operational. When I told you I was miles away that was a ruse to confuse Servalan.”

“I see,” Blake said. He looked up at Servalan, who was urging her guards to do something, _anything,_ if they wanted to live out the day. “It seems to have worked.”

“Yes.” 

“Unlike your arrow.”

Avon sighed. “You were supposed to shoot him in the back. I’d forgotten who I was giving it to or I would have mentioned that.”

Blake grinned and Avon’s sour expression melted into equal amusement. 

“Avon,” his bracelet said in Vila’s voice, “it’s happening any moment now.”

“Brace yourself,” Avon murmured and then there was another massive explosion no more than a meter away from them. The ground shook and the air filled with smoke. Large stones hurtled downwards, bouncing off the force wall. Blake coughed and squinted through the smoke.

 _“Marian?”_ he shouted, _“Cally? Gan?”_

Avon grabbed his hand, “Come _on,_ Blake!” and tugged him back through the hole where the portcullis had been a moment earlier. They stumbled over the uneven ground, littered with stones and bodies, towards the sound of horse’s hooves. 

_“Blake!”_ Jenna called. “Over here.” 

She had Liberator’s reins in her hand and dropped them as Blake pulled himself up into the saddle and hauled Avon up behind him. Quickly, he spurred the horse into a gallop and followed Jenna back into Sherwood Forest, leaving Exbar smoking behind them.

*

They had a party that night. Vila and Gan had stolen some barrels of wine from a nearby manor and, after four barrels-worth had been consumed, everyone was in such high spirits that they even allowed Vila to play his mandolin. Gan caught Jenna up in a jig around the fire, and Cally pulled Blake to his feet, and Marian sat laughing next to Vila, adding a drum beat on one of the empty barrels. 

Avon, typically, refused to join in the fun. Blake spotted his silver jerkin glittering in the firelight, some four meters or so past the horses, and excused himself from Cally. 

He wove unsteadily through the trees to where Avon as sitting and hit the force wall almost without releasing what had happened. 

“Sorry,” Avon said as Blake hit the ground. He smiled as Blake started to laugh.

“It’s all right. I should have realised what you were doing over here.”

“I think it’s going to be very useful,” Avon said, opening and closing his hand. 

“Yes. Well, it was today,” Blake said. “By the way, I never said: thank you for coming to rescue me.”

“It was nothing,” Avon said. “Merely a chance to show off, and ultimately to protect myself.” Blake grinned. 

“What?” Avon asked, but it was clear he knew what from the way his eyes narrowed, challengingly. He was not going to make the first move. 

Blake, meanwhile, had about a gallon of wine inside him and so he leaned forwards. 

“I meant what I said. If you died,” Avon said, as the distance between them closed, “it would be inconvenient for me. Nothing more.”

Blake smiled. Of course Avon probably had ten or twenty highly rational reasons to hold back: he didn't want to upset the balance of the group, or he was worried about what might happen if it didn't work, or what might happen if it did, or he was still unwilling to trust, or to trust Blake. Or perhaps Blake had misjudged the situation entirely and all the snide comments were real and the grins, touches and last-minute rescues were not. Whatever the reason was, Blake was willing to let him have it.

As though it had been what he’d meant to do all along, he used Avon’s shoulder to push himself to his feet. “All right, Avon. Whatever you say." He looked around, briefly confused, and then identified the direction of the party with a finger and stepped towards it.

“You’re drunk,” Avon observed flatly, which was possibly another explanation of sorts.

“Yes. But... not that drunk,” Blake told him, in case it was. He jerked his head over towards the fire. “Come and join the party when you’re done here.” 

He wandered back to the campfire, where he was met with cheers from his assembled band and pulled quickly back into the dancing. 

He'd expected Avon to wait at least two hours before he could allow himself to unbend that much, but Avon arrived at the party only moments after Blake. “Vila,” he said, his voice cutting through the mirth like a knife, “could I see that for a moment?”

“See wha–? _Hey!”_ Vila protested as Avon pulled the mandolin from his grasp and broke it against a tree.

“You can buy another one,” Avon told him. “Preferably at some point in the far distant future. Once most of us are dead.”

“Yeah, but what are we supposed to do for music now?”

Cally laughed. “Even you can’t really call that music, Vila.”

Avon smiled. “Allow me.” He snapped his fingers and the forest was suddenly filled with the sound of a small band playing a lively tune. 

“Another chance to show off?” Blake asked. 

“Something like that,” Avon agreed as he helped himself to Vila’s wine. 

Blake danced with first Marian, then Jenna, then Gan and back to Jenna again. At last he remembered that he had yet to feed his horse, and staggered over to where Liberator was tethered to a tree. She whinnied gently as he approached and pushed her face eagerly into the feedbag. Blake stroked her mane and watched his friends still laughing around the fire. 

It was, he thought as he walked back to them, not at all a bad time to be an outlaw.

*


End file.
